


Test Flights

by blue_spruce



Series: That Others May Live (The Pararescue Boys) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Military, Pre-Slash, Sam Wilson-centric, holiday fic, pararescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/pseuds/blue_spruce
Summary: “Merry Christmas to me,” Riley says. “Goddamn.”





	

[Christmas, 2006]

Riley startles awake, unsure, for a tiny shock of time, of both where he is and why he was woken. And then Sam’s face comes into focus and everything slides into place. He’s not supposed to be on shift yet, he thinks, pushing himself upright in his bunk, swinging his feet down to the floor as he blinks the gunk out of his eyes to squint at his watch, too bright in the dim half-light of the barracks; he’s not supposed to be up yet, right, but –

“Hey,” Sam says, soft, “no, stop, it’s not an emergency.”

“The hell, man?” His eyes hurt. His body hurts, aftereffects of the fuckin’ stunt they pulled yesterday south of Kabul. His shoulders relax, though, and he lets himself yawn. His jaw pops.

“I got you a present,” Sam says. He grins, then, and reaches out, snags Riley’s shoulder and shakes him. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“I’d rather have the sleep, fucker,” Riley says, but he grins back; can’t help himself.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Sam says, “trust me on this.” He jerks his chin towards the door. “C’mon, meet me by the lockers in ten. Cold weather gear.”

Riley gives Sam a narrow-eyed look, pulling his mouth into the sternest frown he can muster. “You _wake me up_ out of the first sound sleep I’ve had in days for something _outside_?”

Sam is already walking away. “You’ll like it,” he says over his shoulder. “Now get your ass in gear.”

 -

Sam is crouched by his locker when Riley finds him, lacing his boots. “Okay, so,” Riley says, pulling his gloves out of his own locker, “when do I get to know what this present is?”

He waits while Sam stands and looks him over. “Grab your goggles,” Sam says, apparently satisfied by the rest of Riley’s gear.

Riley feels his eyebrows go up. “What?” he asks, suspicion growing. He realizes he’s right when Sam laughs; Sam is beaming, delighted, utterly pleased with himself, and that has to mean –

“The new CRO agreed with my assessment that some test flights were in order,” Sam says, and he laughs again when Riley whoops in astonishment.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Riley says. “God _damn_.”

 -

It’s like his exhaustion melts away when he gets the pack on. The last time he got to wear his wings just for fun was…fuck, he can’t even remember. It was a long time ago. They haven’t even been flying much on ops recently; everything’s been helicopter CASEVACs for weeks. Heavy artillery fire and the type of serious casualties that require teammates and stretchers is a somewhat limiting environment for the freewheeling nature of the EXO program.

“‘Test flights,’ really?” he asks as he double-checks the straps. “How the hell’d you get that to fly?”

Sam’s mouth keeps curving up. “Simple logic.” He pulls his goggles down. “We haven’t had adequate time to try out the new comms yet, or that update to the NVGs—” Riley snorts a laugh, and Sam kicks at his ankle. “Cap’s only instructions besides ‘don’t break anything’ were ‘watch out for RPGs.’ Which is fair, there’s been a lot of activity in the southwest quadrant.”

“We just gotta go high, then,” Riley says. “Head northeast.” He meets Sam’s eyes, then reaches out and knocks his gloved fist against Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s go, dude, hurry up!”

 -

Sam is running as soon as they get outside, aloft in seconds. He gains altitude rapidly, almost straight vertical. Riley follows, slower, watching the glint of moonlight on the wings. There’s no rush, for once in his damn life. There’s nothing except the cold night air rushing past his ears and the lights of the base falling away below.

He ascends in lazy, looping circles, giving up on following Sam for the moment. It’s quiet, just a couple brief bursts of gunfire far enough away that they don’t register as a threat. His earpiece crackles. “Falcon three, this is Falcon two, come in.”

“Falcon two, this is Falcon three. I lost you, sorry.”

These comms are, in fact, an upgrade. Sam’s voice in his ear is warm. “Falcon three, I have a visual on you at my three o’clock.”

“Roger that.” Riley banks left, and they’re soon flying side by side.

 -

It’s too soon when Sam motions for them to turn around and head back to base. He’d stay up here for an hour if he could.

Sam peels off in a flashy downward spiral when they’re close to home. Riley shakes his head once and then follows.

There’s no one to hear but he’s screaming with joy.

 -

Sam is waiting when Riley lands. “Well,” Sam says, after Riley’s wings retract, “Merry Christmas, Ri.” He already sounds wistful; the man isn’t meant to be grounded.

Riley looks at him standing there under the floodlight, strong and capable and so damn thoughtful. Best friend he’s ever had; best partner. He’s fucking beautiful is what he is. Riley feels that thought surface and carefully shoves it back down.

His heart feels like something’s squeezing it in his chest. “Thanks, man,” he says, and on a whim he steps forward and pulls Sam into a real hug, not the sideways bro kind they usually go for. “Merry Christmas.”

Sam hugs him back, hard.


End file.
